


Ampersand

by Valor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sylvain, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mirror Sex, Rough Sex, Top Felix, idk how else to tag this friends, its degenerate garbage ft. sylvain introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valor/pseuds/Valor
Summary: He wants more and more until it feels like he’s going to be torn apart and put together again, covered in the filth of all his compulsions; he’s begged Felix to be rough and this is his sweet, sick reward, the one connecting line between what hurts in the way he hates, what aches in the way he loves.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 221





	Ampersand

**Author's Note:**

> anyway so the only lesson i learned today was dont talk to twitter user majorcrest because i have exactly one (1) braincell and it will absolutely go full degenerate horny at the drop of a hat. bro this is for u but also know i cant believe u.  
> also im sorry bc i wrote this in a rush and i didnt read over shit lmao

Felix grabs a fistful of his hair and _tugs_ , baring his throat just enough to leave marks. They’re violent in the way that Felix isn’t, not really, and shameless in the way that Felix is, _really_ , because it’s summer in Faerghus and they both know Sylvain will wear his shirts with the collar hanging low.

“This is— kind of embarrassing, Fe,” Sylvain laughs, breathless, achy, _needy._ His hand presses against the cool glass, subtle in the way it covers his face in the reflection.

__

Felix glances up, and it’s kind of really hot, seeing the way his eyes gleam in that hungry predator sort of way when his mouth is busy laying kisses to a prominent dark bruise. 

__

“You’ve never cared about the way I marked you before,” he says. Almost petulantly, he rocks forward; almost vengefully, he follows with another snap of his hips, just to feel the way Sylvain arches against him with a loud, broken cry.

__

“I,” Sylvain tries to say, but his breath’s catching in his throat, and _Goddess_ help him, Felix’s fingers digging into his hips are making him dizzy with desire. He wants more and more until it feels like he’s going to be torn apart and put together again, covered in the filth of all his compulsions; he’s begged Felix to be rough and this is his sweet, sick reward, the one connecting line between what _hurts_ in the way he hates, what _aches_ in the way he loves.

__

Felix leaves his bruises, his bites, his scratches and his marks; they cover every old scar, every old hurt, until it blends into something that Sylvain can _want_.

__

“I mean— the _mirror!_ ” Sylvain finally manages, but it comes out broken, it comes out breathless, it comes out entangled in the mindless, needy sounds he makes.

__

“Move your hand,” Felix commands, and when Sylvain doesn’t obey fast enough, Felix shoves him down to his hands and knees. It’s too obvious if he hangs his head to avoid looking at his reflection, but—

__

...But.

__

“Look,” Felix says, and this time, Sylvain listens. His gaze moves up to the mirror and he sees everything violently twisted and beautifully raw. Felix fucks him the way he likes, hard and rough and relentless enough to chase away useless thoughts; Sylvain arches and shudders and pushes back for every thrust, recklessly chasing, hopelessly yearning.

__

So: Felix. Beautiful, wild, _dangerous_ Felix and all his lean muscle, his jagged scars. (Sylvain looks at him, the way his eyes narrow with focus, the way his gaze rakes over Sylvain’s bent form with a raw and sharp hunger, the way his kiss-bitten lips part for the moans he stubbornly holds back—and he thinks, this is it, this is the man I love, I love, I _love_.)

__

So: Sylvain. Crumbling, shattering, breaking, _falling_ , fucked until his arms give out from under him. He looks, his cheek pressed to his forearms, the very picture of debauchery in a way so sincere that it _hurts_ , but Felix meets his gaze and pins him there, forces him to face all the fears he’s kept messily wrapped in layers and layers of indulgence.

__

(He has thought, for a very long time—in hollowed spaces, in layers so thick and fake it felt like he might drown—that he will exist to always give.

__

Felix takes him and he says: no, not anymore. And in the highs of pleasure and the lows of pain, Sylvain learns, and he _understands_ , finally, that not every piece of him has to fit into the mold of the Gautier crest.)

__

“Fe,” Sylvain gasps, high-pitched, broken, “Please—”

__

And that’s about what he can ever manage. Please, _please_ —a hundred, a _thousand_ desperations coiled ugly and tight. Felix isn’t tender in tearing away everything that rots and festers; he takes Sylvain with enough force to make his knees drag against the plush carpets, and Sylvain sees lights and stars and meaningless, important shapes flitting in the gloss of the mirror.

__

“Use your words, Sylvain,” Felix reminds him, leaning forward, bowing over Sylvain like he means to take in the whole of him, swallow every beautiful smile, covet every ugly spike. His breath comes hot against Sylvain’s shoulder, and Sylvain thinks, desperate: _bite me, bite me, please, Felix._

__

(Felix does. He does, and Sylvain _moans_ , and he scrabbles for any purchase he can find as he teeters dangerously between the fine line of pleasure and pain.)

__

“Please,” Sylvain begs again, this time to the mirror, this time to Felix, this time to the familiar face that stares back at him. “I love you—I love you, please.”

__

“Fine,” Felix allows. He doesn’t even have to say the rest, doesn’t have to say, _yes, Sylvain, you can cum_ —because that’s exactly what Sylvain does, finishing with a loud, shuddering cry, clenching around Felix with all his wants and needs, his desperations, his everythings. 

__

Felix fucks him through it, pants and swears and murmurs his promises in Sylvain’s ear, until he tries to pull back and Sylvain doesn’t _let_ him. It hurts to twist his arm back at this angle but he still _does_ , just so he can hold Felix’s wrist and tug him in.

__

“Inside,” Sylvain requests, and today—today, and all the days going forward—Felix doesn’t mock him or question why. He finishes inside and Sylvain feels filthy, feels _full_ , feels like he’s carved out a place in the hollows of Gautier bones and crest graveyards where he finally, finally belongs.

__

“Sylvain,” Felix breathes, and Sylvain allows him to relax, to gradually lay down the rest of his weight until they’re both on the floor. Sylvain reaches out; Felix draws him in. “...Idiot. Everyone probably heard us. There’s no difference doing it here or in the hallway.”

__

“Of _course_ there’s a difference,” Sylvain insists, but his voice is raw, and hoarse, and so well-fucked he can’t help but smile through the effort it takes to speak at all. “You looked _hot_ fucking me. I didn’t wanna share that view with anyone.”

__

Felix scoffs. (He’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, and Sylvain doesn’t deserve him—)

__

“Whatever. It shouldn’t even count as sharing if I’m focusing solely on you.”

__

(—except he does, he does, he does. Felix kisses him, and Sylvain melts into his warm and welcome heat. This is home.)

__

**Author's Note:**

> twitter (@silvergraced) dont kink shame me


End file.
